


The Usurper

by Zimra



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nolofinwë Arakáno, second-in-line for the throne of an immortal king, never expected to be a ruler. The four conversations he had on the day he first became one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Usurper

“This is not what I wanted!” 

Arafinwë winced as his brother, having given up trying to pace in the confines of the little room, picked up the nearest book and threw it against the wall of his study. “I know that,” he said coaxingly. “We all do. It is not your fault, Nolofinwë.”

“He will not see it that way!” He turned on his younger brother, unable to keep the fear from his eyes and voice. “Do you think this punishment from the Valar will humble him? And now that Father is gone, now that he has made it so obvious who he truly favors, do you really think there is anything Fëanáro will not do?”

“Even Father cannot overturn the Valar’s verdict,” Arafinwë reminded him. “If Fëanáro transgresses again after he returns, they will not hesitate to exact judgement. He knows that Father cannot protect him, not even with such an extreme gesture of self-sacrifice.” He did not sound angry when he spoke of their father, just tired and disappointed. 

“How can you be so calm at a time like this!” Nolofinwë shouted, glaring at him. “How can you just sit there behind your desk and act like you don’t care? Do you not see that Father has betrayed us all?”

“I do see it,” Arafinwë answered, “just like the rest of you.” He stood up and looked his older brother straight in the eyes. “However, I seem to be the only one who is not surprised.”

Nolofinwë stared at him for a moment, taken aback by the venom in his younger brother’s voice. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding much calmer. “You are the last person I should be shouting at.”

The younger elf shrugged. “Better me than anyone else,” he said, sitting back down. “That’s what I’m here for, Káno.”

“Really?” Nolofinwë raised his eyebrows. “You want your official position in my court to be ‘the one the king yells at when he’s angry and isn’t allowed to yell at anyone else?’”

“Absolutely,” Arafinwë said, completely straight-faced.

Nolofinwë couldn’t help it; he laughed. “If that is so, then maybe the next twelve years will be bearable, at least. I will leave you to your work for now, but I can promise I’ll be back. Probably often.” He picked up the book that he had thrown and put it back on the desk before letting himself out of the study.

Ducking his head to hide a smile, Arafinwë returned to his work.

~

Findis sat outside their mother’s room with her embroidery in her lap, lost in thought, her hands uncharacteristically idle. She turned when she heard him approaching, and without speaking moved over to let him sit beside her. Her face was impassive, as usual, and he suddenly felt awkward. His older sister’s mind had always been a mystery to him; he usually relied on Lalwen or Arafinwë to interpret her solemnity as recognizable emotion. 

“How is she?” Nolofinwë asked quietly.

“She sits at the window and will not speak to anyone. But she has stopped crying.” Findis took up her embroidery again and made a few tiny, perfect stitches, her head bent to her work. Then she put it down again abruptly and looked up at him, her face full of desperation. “I’ve never seen her cry before, Arakáno.”

“I know,” he said. The sight of their mother abandoning all the emotional restraints she had kept in place so carefully over the years had been difficult for all of them, but he could tell from Findis’ hunched posture and restless hands that it had affected her most of all. 

“Fin?” He looked closely at her face, and saw that her mouth quivered slightly, and her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. Something twisted inside him. Not her, too. People he looked up to, people he relied on for strength and motivation - both pushed to breaking point. And it was his fault, his out-of-control feud with Fëanáro that had brought this on. 

Gingerly he put his arms around her, and she began to cry into his shoulder, great shaking silent sobs that she choked back so that Indis would not be able to hear her. He could think of nothing to say that might make her feel better, so he simply waited until she stopped, then handed her a handkerchief.

She wiped her eyes, glancing around the room to make sure no one was watching them. “Do not tell anyone else,” she begged him. “Not Mother. Not even Arafinwë. Especially not Lalwen.” She let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. 

“Fin…” he placed one hand gently on her shoulder. She shook her head.

“I’m fine, Nolofinwë. Really. I will care for Mother; you don’t have to worry about her. I know this will be hard for you, especially at first. I am ready to do whatever you need me to.” Her voice stopped shaking, and she managed some semblance of a smile. “Just don’t ask me to host any parties.”

“Right,” he said, feeling awkward again. He stood up. “If she says anything, will you tell her…tell her I want to see her. That I am concerned.”

Findis nodded. “I will.” She smoothed out the crumpled handkerchief, which had Nolofinwë’s full name embroidered along one of the sides. Running her fingers over the stitching, she smiled. “I made these years ago, one set for each of you. It was my first major project. Fëanáro looked so angry when he opened his, and I had no idea what I had done to upset him. I didn’t understand why my skill at embroidery disturbed him. I used to be so scared of him.” She folded the handkerchief neatly and handed it back to Nolofinwë. “You’ll be a good king. Much better than Fëanáro would have been.”

“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. 

~

“Did you talk to Mother?” Lalwen, never one to waste time with small talk, stopped him in the entrance hall of his parents’ home as he prepared to leave, and immediately crushed him in a hug. His twin had clearly just arrived; her long golden hair was tousled from riding, her blue dress covered in dust.

“No,” he replied, returning her embrace gladly. “Findis says that she won’t speak to anyone. I didn’t want to disturb her.”

“Findis is here?” Lalwen roughly brushed the dust from her skirt, and ran her fingers through her hair in a half-hearted attempt to tidy it. “I should really talk to her. How is she? She seemed shaken after…earlier.” She frowned. 

Though he had trouble reading Findis, Lalwen always seemed to know exactly what their older sister was thinking and feeling. It still surprised him a little that they were so close, given their radically different personalities. “She seems fine now,” he said. It wasn’t even a lie, really. 

“And how are you?” Lalwen asked, with sudden concern. “You’re probably having the worst time of all of us. After all, Father just publicly sided with the man who threatened to kill you.”

Nolofinwë grimaced, but he was secretly rather relieved. No one else would dare to put it so bluntly, except for Arafinwë, and he had far to much tact. Lalwen’s frankness, as always, gave him the perfect opportunity to speak his mind.

“I’ve been better,” he confessed, lowering his voice just in case anybody else was nearby. “I could have done without the iron-clad confirmation that Father cares more about Fëanáro than he ever will about any of us. And I’m worried about Mother. I’ve never seen anything upset her this much.” Most of the anger had left him, he noticed, replaced by a deep, almost painful bitterness. Lalwen made a sympathetic noise. “What about you?” 

“I feel…helpless,” she said, her voice and face and every gesture practically screaming with barely-suppressed frustration.

He snorted. “You, helpess?”

She scowled at him. “I’m serious! I’m no use at all right now. Nolofinwë, I’d take up a sword to defend you against Fëanáro in a heartbeat, but I can’t. If he had harmed you, he would not be sitting safely in exile, of that you may be sure.” Her expression grew dangerous for a moment, then she shook her head. “We all know I’m a public menace when it comes to diplomacy, but I swear I’ll behave, for your sake. I’ll keep my mouth shut and be kind and gracious, for as long as it helps. Tell Anairë that she can depend on me for assistance whenever she needs it; I know Fin won’t want to deal with the inevitable people, but I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure Anairë will be glad to hear it,” he said. “That is…I have not seen her yet. I doubt she’ll be happy to hear the other news, but I know she’d welcome your help.”

“She must know by now,” Lalwen said dismissively. “The whole city seems to know. One of the children will have told her, if nothing else.”

He swore. “I hope they hear it from someone reliable. The rumors must be a nightmare.” 

“I’ve heard at least one mad claim that Fëanáro hunted you down and ran you through, and another that you did the same to him,” Lalwen said, making a face as though she’d bitten into something rotten. “Maybe you ought to get home.”

He was already gone.

~

Anairë was waiting for him in the parlor, standing at the window and looking out over the city. She turned quickly the instant she heard him coming, and let out a sigh of relief. Her braided hairstyle was unraveling as though she’d been picking it slowly apart, a nervous habit from her youth that she had never quite been able to break.

“You’ve heard, then?” he asked. 

She nodded. “Findekáno told me. He was very upset. It seems that Maitimo and all his brothers are also accompanying their father into exile.”

“Of course they are,” he said bitterly. Anairë shot him a reproachful look. “I don’t mean - you know I like Maitimo, he’s a good lad,” Nolofinwë protested. “They all are, most of the time. I just wish Fëanáro did not have such a hold over them. It won’t end well.”

“He’s their father,” Anairë said. “You know Findekáno and Turukáno would follow you anywhere, not matter what you had done.”

“I like to think that I have the sense not to get myself banished,” said Nolofinwë. “Even if I do not, I have people to check my actions and keep me from doing anything monumentally stupid. Nobody checks Fëanáro - not his sons, and certainly not Father. Nerdanel tries, but he stopped listening to her long ago.”

“You’re right,” Anairë said, “but I do not want to discuss your brother right now.” She reached out and took his hand, pulling him closer to her. “Tell me, is Findekáno right about your father? Or did he just repeat some wild rumor that he heard in the street?” He could tell from her voice that she knew the truth, but it did not hurt to confirm it.

Nolofinwë shook his head. “It’s true. You are the queen now. Isn’t that what every young maiden dreams of?” He knew he sounded grim and bitter, but he could not help it. 

She chuckled. “Nolofinwë, if I had my sights set on being a queen, I never would have married you.” Her husky voice was dark with irony, but her eyes were worried. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Anairë sighed, fiddling with a strand of her dark hair. “It just feels wrong, replacing your mother like this. I know she isn’t the most popular queen, but she’s never been anything but kind to me, and I doubt I will be half as good at managing this place as she is. You know I’ve never been very invested in court life.”

“You will do fine,” he assured her, putting his arm around her waist. “You’ll have Lalwen, Findis, and Earwen to help you, and it’s not as though my mother is going anywhere.” There was certainly no chance of her following Finwë into exile; he did not have to speak to her to know that. “Besides, Fëanáro’s supporters will have enough trouble accepting me as their king. If Mother remained queen, there would be rioting in the streets of Tirion, and the northern lords would probably try to storm the city.” He spoke sarcastically, but even he wasn’t sure whether or not he was really joking.

“That certainly won’t happen,” Anairë said firmly. “I will have words with my father and brother if they cause any trouble, you can be sure.”

“And that is why it has to be you,” Nolofinwë told her. “If you can reason with your family, this will be easier on all of us. They’ll get to have the proper Noldorin queen they’ve always wanted, and we may perhaps have a little peace.”

She leaned against him, and he began to relax a little for the first time that day. Together, they looked out the window and watched the city slowly darken.


End file.
